Gargoyles: Search for an Angel
by JacksonMW
Summary: Estevan Martinez, after having defeated a pack of Werewolves and befriending a clan of Gargoyles, has set out on a long journey to try and reconnect with his sister. But the reemergence of his past demons will threaten to destroy any chance he has of finding her. Will his long search end with him finding an Angel or a Demon? (Sequel to Gargoyles: Attack of the Moonstalkers)
1. Prologue

Prologue

New York City disappeared from view. And with it an entire chapter of my life had come to an end. When I came to New York, I was hell bent on destroying the lives of a clan of Gargoyles I thought had murdered my parents fifteen years ago. It was a foolish goal now that I look back on it. I was on a mission of revenge, fueled by a fifteen years filled with anger and hate. My choices up until the few weeks I had spent befriending the clan of Gargoyles I had planned to kill all but destroyed my relationship with my baby sister, Angel. I had left her all those years ago to pursue my self-righteous goals. Now, as I sit aboard the plane that will take me back to Washington, I am beginning a new search, a search for an Angel.

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><p><strong>Hello, everyone, I am The Guy Who Likes To Write Stuff. I'm writing here to let you all know I have given this talented author my permission and full support and blessing to go ahead and write this story as a full, in-canon sequel to my own story, 'Gargoyles: Attack of the Nightstalkers'. I had very briefly considered writing my own sequel, but decided to pass due to commitments to other stories I wanted to write. When this enthusiastic writer asked if he could write his own sequel to my story, I was both very excited and honored. So, I said, "Go for it."<strong>

**He's a truly gifted writer, speaking from the experience of having read a part of his own Gargoyles story, 'Memories', which I'm ashamed to say I still have not finished due to being busy. I will finish it, though, you all have my word. You all also have my sincere word that JacksonMW was given my full permission to write this story. To prove this, I will post this same author's note on my own profile where you can read it and believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jackson and I came in agreement on this joint venture.**

**With all that said, I guess now I can only ask you to please continue reading this story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as you enjoyed reading mine, if not more. I'm The Guy Who Likes To Write Stuff, signing off.**

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><p><strong>Thanks to The Guy Who Likes to Write Stuff for the kind words. It's such an honor for him to trust me enough to handle his characters! I will not let you guys down!<strong>

**Now, this prologue is rather short because I wrote it in a 'Previously on Gargoyles' esque style. It's meant to give you guys a peak into what happened in Gargoyles: Attack of the Moonstalkers. If you're new and clicked on this story, GO READ ATTACK OF THE** **MOONSTALKERS**.** You don't have to, but you might be confused. You should also read it because it is very good! Enjoy!**

**Yours Truly,**

**JacksonMW**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gargoyles, for it belongs to** Disney.** I have been given permission by The Guy Who Likes To Write Stuff to use his characters.**_


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter I

"Estevan Martinez?" the car rental clerk asked while holding my ID.

"Yea that's me," I smiled as I stood awkwardly at the counter.

As he typed away on his computer, I noticed several other people who were waiting at the car rental center stealing glances at me. At first I was puzzled as to why I was so interesting to look at. My clothes were not abnormal. The same goes for my face. I then remembered what I had tied to my belt, a plain black scabbard holding a long sword. It was a special long sword too, for the blade is made of pure silver. I had purchased the weapon to kill Gargoyles but I ended up using it to kill several Werewolves instead. I was prepared to leave it in New York City, but I decided to take it with me after learning swords were allowed on planes. Besides, I went through too much with the sword to just part ways with it.

I ignored the stares at hoisted my duffle bag further up onto my shoulder.

"Alright Mr. Martinez," the clerk said, "The credit card on your reservation has been billed for your rental. The car is on our business class daily rate and rented under our extended stay rental option."

The clerk handed me the key to the car and said, "It is located in Lot C Space Three. Thank you for renting your vehicle with us."

I nodded a thanks and exited the line.

I forgot that Mr. Xanatos paid for both the plane ticket and my rental car, I thought as I walked out of the off-site rental building and into the outdoor parking lot.

Back in the old stomping grounds, I thought as I took a moment to breath in the crisp fall air.

I had forgotten how beautiful Washington looked in the fall. Leaves of all different colors lined the branches of the trees. Occasionally the sun would peak out from behind the grey clouds before being swallowed up again.

I proceeded to lot C, which was at the back of the large lot. I didn't mind the walk from the rental center; it gave me some more time to reflect on my experiences in New York.

It is still hard for me to believe that I am now friends with a clan of mythical Gargoyles and one of the richest men in the world. It's even better considering they are the only real friends I've managed to gather at this point in life. Part of me wanted to stay in New York, build a new life with them and try to forget about my past. In the end I knew I would have to come back to where it all started. Better to face the dark past rather than cover it up in more darkness.

As a nice parting gift, Mr. Xanatos had decided to make my rental a high end vehicle. I had insisted that it wasn't necessary, but in the end I accepted his generous gift. The car was parked right where the clerk said it would be. Lot C must be reserved for the classier vehicles, which explains why my vehicle was parked between two Lamborghinis. My rental car was a soothing blue all around with a single white racing stripe running from the top of the hood to the bottom of the hood. I'm not what you would consider a car aficionado (I'm much more familiar with the simpler terms) but it looked to be a Corvette.

I smiled lightly as I walked around the driver's side, looking the vehicle over several times before stopping in front of the tail gate. The key ring the clerk had given me lacked any sort of automatic door unlock button; I was left with just the silver key for the car itself. Either way, the trunk and the driver's door had a slot for the key to unlock it. I set my bag on the ground and unclipped my sword, setting it on top of the duffle. I unlocked the trunk and loaded the bag and sword in with car, making sure they wouldn't move around too much during the ride.

With my cargo secured, I closed the tail gate and walked back to the driver's side. The one thing that irked me about the Corvette was how low to the ground it was. I'll never understand why car designers seem to think the lower a car the faster it goes. I certainly don't think it helps with the aerodynamics of the vehicle it-self, but I'm probably mistaken. I bent down to the lock on the driver's side and opened the door, stepping into the rather cramped interior of the Corvette and closing the door.

It took a few minutes to get comfortable in the small interior of the Corvette. I had to scoot the chair all the way back, which wasn't very far to begin with. I'd have to make the best of it however; I don't think the rental service allows exchanges on their vehicles.

Driving this high end sports car is definitely different from the cars I'm more accustomed to. The minute I turned the engine on and shifted into Drive, the Corvette hummed to life and began to move without any pressure on the gas pedal. It startled me for a moment before I took hold of the wheel and began to pull out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

Even though it's been fifteen years since I've been back home I didn't need any directions to where I was going. I would always remember where my home was.

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><p>I had been driving off the highway for a good thirty minutes or so. The majority of Yelm was located a few miles from anyone of the highways that encircled it. The only direct way to get there was along the state and country roads. Hell, if I remember correctly there wasn't a big name store for about twenty miles, which might not seem like that much, but it still gave of the familiar small town feel.<p>

As I drove down the leaf covered country road I couldn't help but begin to feel nervous. I had walked away from this life the minute I saw my parent's corpses lying in a pool of their own blood. A part of me burned down with that house. And now it's like I am visiting the grave of that part.

I gulped audibly as I drove past a sign that read, "Welcome to Yelm, Washington Population: 2,689."

"This is it," I breathed, "Home."

The road led me into the main stretch of down town. As expected, it was quite desolate. Whether it was just because it was a Sunday or the fact that it's become a ghost town now didn't really matter. Barely anyone was walking on the sidewalk and very few cars were parked on the side of the streets. And there certainly weren't any Corvettes to be seen, which made me feel even more out of place than I already was.

I scanned over every little shop that lined the street before spotting the one I was looking for. There were plenty of parking spaces available, so I pulled the Corvette into a space a couple of feet away from the store. I stepped out of the Corvette once parked, stretching my legs and back.

Stretching my back one last time, I stepped up onto the leaf ridden sidewalk. The old lady working the shop must have heard the Corvette drive by. I caught a glimpse of her stark white hair and wrinkly face before it disappeared behind the curtains on the window.

"Guess it's not every day they see a Corvette out here," I smiled to myself.

Pushing open the shop's glass door, my nose was bombarded by the aroma's of hundreds of different kinds of flowers all mixing together. While it smelled nice, to a certain extent, I had never set a single foot in a flower shop before. It was a sweet yet extremely nauseating smell.

"Can I help you find anything dear?" the old lady said as she leaned over the counter.

"No thanks," I gasped, still acquainting myself with the smell of the flower shop.

She nodded and smiled lightly before returning to her work. I turned on a heel and began to walk through the rows of flowers. Each of the bouquets was displayed in clear and most likely expensive vases that were lined neatly on aisles of metal racks. Small price stickers rested against the vases with a short description of what flowers were used in the bouquet. Situated above the metal racks were assortments of hanging flowers suspended by rope attached to the ceiling.

It didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. I'm not one for the overly fancy, so I went for a simple bouquet made up of white roses and bunches of lilacs all tied around a silver piece of string. I carefully lifted them out of the crystal vase and carried them over to the cash register, gently setting them down on the counter.

"Lovely choice," she remarked as she cut off the bouquets price tag. "Are these for a special lady friend?"

I chuckled and said, "I wish. They're actually for my parents."

"Such a sweet young man," she smiled warmly as she typed the bouquets item number into her register. "Is there anything you'd like written on the card?"

I shook my head, "I'd rather tell them what I have to say in person."

"Well that will be $27.49," the old lady replied."

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my money clip, selecting about thirty-five dollars.

"Keep the change," I smiled, grabbing the bouquet and handing her the bills.

The old lady placed the money in the register and thanked me as I walked back out onto the sidewalk. When I reached the Corvette, I stepped back inside, making sure to gently set the flowers on the passenger seat before starting the engine. I eased the car back onto the main street, driving away from the flower shop slowly in order to catch my bearings.

It'd be cheesy to say that my heart was guiding me. It was more like a subtle nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I've never noticed it or paid much mind to it before, seeing as my mind was kept focused on my unfaltering hatred and drive for revenge. I guess all those years my brain was telling me to give up my quest and just go home.

I turned right off the main road just before I came to the local school. The new road led me into a suburb of the main area of town. Each yard of the houses was at least half the size of a football field, dotted with trees and other assortments of plants. The houses were all moderately sized and didn't range from the overly small to the overly large. I slowed the car down to a crawl as I looked for where my house used to be when I suddenly stopped.

I wasn't even aware that I had stopped until I looked down and saw my foot on the break. I shifted the car into park and turned my head to look out the driver's window. A vacant lot met my gaze. The sole object on the lot was a lone headstone.

There it was the final resting place of my parents. They were the only part of my family left alive, leaving no one left to make the necessary funeral arrangements or take care of Angel and me. Rather than setup a headstone in the local graveyard, the townsfolk of Yelm decided to dedicate their plot of land as my mom and dad's grave. While it sounds morbid, it's fitting seeing as there weren't any bodies left to bury. The entire house had collapsed, leaving no trace of the bodies or their condition.

I gulped loudly and turned off the car, making sure to grab the flowers before I left the Corvette. The lot was covered in dead leaves from neighbor's trees. The leaves crunched under my feet as I approached the polished granite headstone. After fifteen years it still showed bright like it had just been planted yesterday. It was nice they see that the townsfolk were still taking care of it.

Slowly, I knelt down and laid the flowers against the headstone, taking time to read it:

Andrea Martinez

Loving Mother and Wife

1964-1998

Samuel Martinez

Loving Father and Husband

1963-1998

I sat up and let out a sigh.

"Hey Mom, hey Dad," I spoke aloud. "I don't know if you guys can hear me, but I just wanted to let you know I was back. I've goofed up a lot since I lost you. I have made plenty of stupid decisions, some that nearly killed me. I thought I was doing it all for you, that you would want me to avenge your death. But now, I realize how much of an idiot I was. Revenge doesn't solve anything. That's why I've come back here to let you know that I'm going to fix all of this. Probably the thing I regret the most is leaving Angel. I left her to face the world alone. I didn't even say good bye to her before I left. I thought she would understand why I was leaving if I ever accomplished my stupid quest. I don't"-tears were beginning to well up as I spoke- "I don't know if I can forgive myself, but I'm hoping she will. I am making this promise to you: I will find her. I will make this right. Next time I come back here, Angel will be with me!"

I rested my head on the front of the headstone as tears began to drip onto the granite. I sniffled slightly as I sat up and walked back to the Corvette.

Before driving away, I looked back at the lot one last time.

"I promise," I said softly.

**Here we are! Sorry it took a bit to upload. Holidays and family got in the way. But I'm getting back into the swing of things and decided to finish typing this chapter and get it up! Just an FYI, things will be a little slow (lacking of the action) for a good deal of these chapters. But stick with me and it'll get a lot more fast paced soon! I've got big plans for this story!**

**Happy New Year!**

**JacksonMW**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gargoyles. That belongs to Disney. I also do not own Estevan Martinez or Angel Martinez. They belong to ThatGuyWhoLikesToWriteStuff and I am using them with his permission.**_


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter II

_December 25, 1997_

_ Yelm, Washington_

"There's one more present left Mommy," I said cheerfully as I crawled under the Christmas tree, "And it's from Daddy."

"Bring it here, Estevan," Dad said with a smile as he leaned back in his recliner. I happily grabbed the large square box and crawled out from under the tree. I hoisted the box up high and made my way over to Dad, making sure not to step on Angel, who was playing with the wrapping paper rather than her new toys. Dad sat up in his chair and took the colorful box from me.

"This is for the best mother and wife in the entire world," Dad smiled as he handed the box to Mom, who was sitting next to Angel.

"Sam," Mom blushed, "I thought we weren't going to get each other presents."

"Well when I saw this I couldn't help but buy it for you, honey," Dad smiled as he handed mom the present.

I watched as Mom carefully tore through the bright Christmas wrapping, eager to see what was inside. Mom opened the cardboard box that had been covered by the wrapping and reached into a sea of foam peanuts. When her hand emerged, she was holding a golden sphere adorned with fiery red jewels and strange symbols that wrapped around its hemisphere.

"Oh Samuel, it's absolutely gorgeous," Mom gasped as she peered at her own reflection in the polished gold sphere.

The light shined off the sphere gloriously, trapping both me and Angel in child-like wonder at the strange object that was held before us.

"You wouldn't believe what I had to do to get that," Dad reminisced. "Some fiery haired woman saw me buy it and tried to purchase it from me for triple of what I got for it. But no amount of money could replace the feeling I get from seeing you happy, Andrea."

Mom gently set the gold sphere on her lap.

"Thank you so much honey. I love you," she said sincerely.

"I love you to," Dad said before they leaned in and kissed each other.

I turned away from my kissing parents, focusing my attention on one of the many new action figures I had received. As I sat down and began to play with it, I noticed a faint smell of smoke filling the room. I turned back to face my parents and was met with a raging inferno that had engulfed their bodies, leaving nothing but charred husks.

"MOMMY! DADDY," I cried in anguish as tears streamed down my face.

I frantically looked around for Angel as the inferno engulfed the Christmas tree.

"Angel," I cried loudly, "where are you!?"

I sat up as the flames encircled me, leaving nothing but a small patch of rug beneath my feet. An evil cackle erupted over the sounds of the fire, chilling my bones as more and more tears flowed from my eyes. Standing in place of the Christmas tree was a tall, menacing figure with gigantic wings and piercing red eyes.

The figure broke into maniacal laughter as it raised its claws, ready to strike. I screamed as loud as I could, hoping someone would come and rescue me.

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><p><em>Present Day<em>

My screams from the dream merged into the sound of the alarm I had set. I shot out of bed, my backside drenched in sweat. Breathing heavily, I looked around the small motel room, making sure nothing was out of place.

I let out a long sigh of relief and hit the snooze button on the alarm.

"That was one hell of a nightmare," I said aloud.

It had been years since I had dreamt about anything relating to that night. Being back home is bringing back some less than favorable memories. But why was I dreaming about the final Christmas I had gotten to enjoy with my family and why was it mixed with the night of the fire?

"You'd better cut that shit out brain," I warned, still sitting up in the bed. "I need to focus on Angel, not that night or anything to do with the Gargoyle that caused it."

Despite my encounter with Goliath and his clan in Manhattan, I am still positive that a Gargoyle murdered my parents. But right now, Angel is my main focus. I cannot allow myself to be pulled back into my obsession with that night. For all I know, the Gargoyle is probably dead by now.

I swung my legs out from under the covers and set them on the carpeted floor. The entire hotel room was fairly outdated and old, but it was definitely better than sleeping the night away parked on the side of the road in the Corvette. I had seriously considered doing just that, but after how uncomfortable the hour long drive had been from the airport, a motel room was a better choice. Still, I needed to watch how I spent my money. I had been pretty careless with my money back in New York.

I stretched once more before standing up and walking over to a large mirror that was

opposite my bed. A lamp sat next to the mirror, which I flicked on in order to get a better look at myself. The bruises and scabs from my many injuries I received while in New York were nearly faded away. It is nice to see that they were cleaning up so well. It is almost like the bruises and scabs symbolize the washing away of my past life.

The bathroom was only a few steps away from the mirror. I walked into the very small room and splashed cold water on my face. I shuffled back out and proceeded to open my duffle bag.

There were barely any contents within the small bag: a few shirts and pants mixed in with underwear and socks as well as the basic hygiene items. I was a man of very few necessities. My time living on the road taught me how to survive off the bare minimum, never needing too much in order to get by. In hindsight, it would have been a good idea to buy some more clothes before leaving New York.

With little care in what I was going to wear, I pulled out a plain white shirt and a pair of old jeans. I couldn't count how many times I had worn that pair of jeans, but I knew it spanned several years.

Before putting them on, I looked back at the sword, which was resting against the nightstand. I reached over and took it in hand, grasping the hilt before pulling it out of the scabbard. The blade made the typical "schwing" sound when I pulled it out of the plain black scabbard. The pure silver blade still shined like it had just been made yesterday. I had neglected to clean its blade and still expected to find it stained with werewolf blood. To my surprise, it was completely clean; there was no trace of any blood. I lightly touched one of the two sharpened edges of the sword with my finer and quickly recoiled in pain. Looking at the finger, I saw a small trickle of blood coming from the fresh wound.

"That's really sharp," I remarked as I wiped the blood off on the bed's comforter. "You know, this sword needs a name."

Since King Arthur has Excalibur, why shouldn't my sword have a name as well? Besides, it would be a great conversation piece. But what would a good name be? Most swords are named for the deeds they do or the creatures they've slain.

"Wolf's Bane," I gasped. "Yes. That's it. Wolf's Bane, slayer of werewolves!"

I chuckled at my own display, thankful that no one else could see me at the moment. I looked the blade over once more before I picked up the scabbard and slowly slid Wolf's Bane back into place.

I gently set Wolf's Bane down on the bed and put on the white shirt and jeans. Before zipping the duffle bag close, I pulled out the picture of my parents. It was one of the very few things that was saved from the ruins of our house. It used to be a much larger picture that included both Angel and I, but that part of the picture had sadly burned away.

I stared at the burnt picture for a few more seconds before gently placing it in the bag, making sure it wouldn't become crumpled or get damaged any further. With my bag closed, I set it at the foot of the bed and laid Wolf's Bane on top of it. I grabbed my keys and wallet from the nightstand before grabbing my bag and walking over to the door. I put on my simple converse shoes and opened the door.

The cold morning air hit me like a freight train, nearly forcing me back into the warm motel room.

"Christ," I shivered, "forgot how cold Washington is."

It felt like an entirely different world. I had spent much of the fifteen years after I had left in California and many of the states along the United States-Mexican Border. I was more accustomed to hot summers and mild winters, not cool summers and brutally cold winters.

"At least I was smart enough to bring my coat," I remarked as I walked under a covered walkway that was just outside the motel rooms.

What wasn't smart was leaving my coat in the car and not taking it with me to the room. I guess this is what I get for my lack of foresight.

My car was parked closer to the motels office, which made it convenient for me to check out and get on with my search. I walked through the offices front door and was greeted with the smile of the on call manager.

"Did you have a good night, sir?" the clerk asked as she looked up from her computer.

"Yup," I smiled back, approaching the desk with my wallet already drawn. "How much will the night be?"

"One hundred even, sir," she stated. "Cash or credit?"

"Cash," I replied, taking four twenties from my wallet and handing them to the clerk.

She took the cash from my waiting hand and opened her money drawer, taking out no change and placing the four twenties neatly into the drawer.

"All set?" I asked.

"Yes, you're all set, sir," she smiled. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too," I replied.

I turned on a heel and walked back out into the brisk fall air. The wind picked up slightly, blowing around the fallen leaves in the small parking lot. I tucked my arms together and rushed over to the Corvette, opening the door and stepping inside.

I quickly shut the door and started the engine, making sure to turn on the heat. I noticed an option on the dashboard to turn on heaters for the seats, which I took immediate advantage of. The warmth produced by the seat heater began to lull me back into the realm of sleep. I quickly sat up, shaking off the sleepy sensation and pulled out of the motel's parking lot.

I drove along the vacant road, mulling over my thoughts. Since I've made peace with my parents, it was time to begin my search for Angel. I didn't have much to go on for my search though. Being away for fifteen years really throws someone out of the loop. Angel might not even be in Washington anymore.

The only way I would know for sure would be to visit the orphanage. I shuddered at the thought of going back there. That orphanage brings back very strong and sad memories.

During my first few years at the orphanage, which was funded by the local Catholic Church, I had been in and out of psychiatric offices. I had apparently developed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from seeing my parent's mutilated bodies and the demonic Gargoyle which had killed them. Angel was too young to remember anything from that night and was not affected in any way. She was spared from the torment; I was not.

Each night as I laid in the small mattress that the orphanage provided for us I was haunted and tormented by a constant barrage of nightmares going back to that night. I'd wake up covered in sweat and other fluids, barely managing to get any sleep. The volunteers at the orphanage tried nearly every psychologist they could find and afford, hoping that they could pin point the source of my troubles. I never told them anything, keeping what happened locked up in the labyrinth of my mind and never letting anyone in. They eventually left me alone, leaving me to live in my own personal Hell for nearly three years until I found a fleeting peace.

Angel was that peace. I was about seven years old and Angel was five. She had reached the age where she was starting to become aware of how others felt. While I rarely talked or even looked at any one, Angel was the one who finally managed to reach me. She made me feel normal again and helped me to almost push past what happened to our parents.

However, all of that was ruined by that one newscast. And now I am here, driving back towards the orphanage where I spent most of my childhood.

The orphanage, which was called Saint Paul's Home for Children, was located on the northern outskirts of Yelm. It was situated on a large hill overlooking the downtown strip of the town. The building itself was very old; its construction resembled that of an old colonial house. Back before it was an orphanage, the home looked like it could have been some rich fellow's mansion.

As I drove up the hill, I expected to meet the closed in iron fence and stone wall that lined the property that I so vaguely remembered. However, as the stone wall came in to view, a sense of dread and a tinge of anger swept over me.

Rather than seeing a well-kept stone archway and a polished iron fence, I was met with mossy, overgrown stone and decrepit iron making up a warped fence.

"No, no, no, no, no," I repeated over and over as I stepped on the gas, driving the Corvette past the rusted fence and into the gravel covered circle drive way in front of the orphanage.

The large colonial style building was now a decrepit old shell. The wood and bricks were faded and rotting. Each window was either covered with plywood or nearly broken. Vines and vegetation were crawling up the building, adding to its rotten visage. I abruptly stopped the car before the orphanages cracked stone steps, immediately leaping out of the car without even turning off the engine.

I ran in front of the parked Corvette, clamoring up the stone steps. The two large wooden doors were covered with rotten boards nailed firmly into the old wood. Red letters were sprayed over the boards and spelled out CONDEMED.

It was my worst fear realized.

"God damn it," I cursed.

Fifteen years had changed a lot more than I thought. My only real lead on where Angel might be is now rotting away a top a lonely hill.

I ran down the steps and began to pace wildly on the gravel driveway, my mind racing on what to do. There had to be something here, something I could use. I had not come all this way for nothing and I was not going to let a condemned building stop me.

Reaching into my pocket, I fumbled around for my keys. I ran up to the Corvette's tailgate, sliding on the gravel rocks. I flung open the trunk, pulling out my scabbard and unsheathing Wolf's Bane. Grasping the leather handle in my hands, I sprinted back up the steps and raised Wolf's Bane high above my head before slamming it down on the uppermost wood board.

While not exactly an axe, Wolf's Bane sliced through the boards surprisingly well. It took a few slashes to cut through the boards, revealing the door knob after a few minutes. The blade was definitely going to need to be sharpened after I was finished.

The final board broke easily, sending the last round of wooden splinters flying at my face. Breathing heavily, I slung the sword onto my shoulder, holding the handle with my right hand. The once brass door knobs on both wooden doors were now a sickly green with splotches of their former color. I grasped the knob and began to push, hearing the rusted hinges buckle and creak under my force.

It took a few more pushes for the large wooden door to burst open. I crossed the doors threshold, stepping into the orphanages hall.

Dust particles hung in the air like a cloud of fog. The atmosphere in the orphanage was one of undisturbed calm. It was almost as if time had halted within the building. The main hall's wooden floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, completely undisturbed. I walked beyond the door's threshold, my feet leaving imprints in the floor's dusty covering.

The hall was mostly occupied by a grand staircase which wound up the side of the walls and connected the first floor to the second. Three halls extended from the main hall; one on the right and left of the door and one that extended to the back of the orphanage.

I ran my hand over the dusty wood banister of the staircase, my hand picking up large clumps of dust. I began to ascend the old stairs, moving at a slower pace. Each board creaked loudly as I climbed to the second floor. My goal was to get to the office for the orphanages director. I had spent a lot of time there as a child, not because I had done anything bad, but it was one of the few secluded areas in the orphanage. Being there allowed me to wallow in peace.

With any luck there would still be some information on why the orphanage was now closed down and what happened to anyone who had been present when it did shut down. Surely they wouldn't throw everyone out onto the streets. Any scrap of information was my best chance of finding where Angel might be.

The second floor was in the same condition as the first, with undisturbed dust covering every inch of the floors, walls, and ceiling. I stopped in front of a closed door after a few steps away from the top of the stairs.

A dull bronze plaque was nailed into the wood door. It was faded beyond the point of readability, but I knew it was the director's office. I reached for the door knob and grasped it in my hand. Much to my dismay, turning the knob gave me a small jiggle and nothing else. The door was locked.

"Great," I groaned loudly as I tried to force the knob to turn.

Huffing loudly, I backed away from the locked door, making sure my leg could still reach. I counted to three before slamming my foot into the door. The loud crack that followed the kick echoed through the empty halls. I counted to three once again and kicked the door one more time. The old wood splintered and cracked as the door flew open, slamming into the wall on the inside of the office. The part of the door that held the door knob was still in place, however, the rest of the door had been forced open and now hung open on its hinges.

I knelt down for a moment and rubbed my leg that I had used to open the door.

"That's gonna be sore later," I remarked as I felt my leg, making sure nothing was broken.

I sat up and walked through the destroyed door. The office, much to my surprise, was rather clean. There was still dust on everything, but nothing was laying on the floor. Filing cabinets lined the wall to my right. A shelf was on the left wall devoid of any items. Towards the back wall, in front of a window, was a desk covered with dust and old trinkets.

I had expected to see a partially or completely destroyed room littered with debris, but was met with a room that seemed to be frozen in time. I moved further into the room, walking over to the row of filing cabinets. Each one had a faded but still readable sticker showing which last names could be found in each cabinet. I scanned down the row, passing several cabinets before arriving at the one for M last names.

Thankfully, the drawer for the M last names was not locked. I pulled it open, the drawer squeaking as it emerged from the cabinet. An even bigger surprise was seeing that many of the folders I had expected to find were still in place, sorted in almost alphabetical order. I skimmed through each folder, pulling them out one by one, checking the name, and then tossing them onto the floor. I began to panic as I shifted far past where Angel's file should have been. Part of me wanted to hope that the files might have just been misplaced, but my doubt and fear grew as I neared the end of the files.

I pulled out the last file, tossing it across the office. I slammed the drawer back into the cabinet, the force of my push nearly toppling the file cabinet.

"Where could her file have gone?" I asked aloud, my voice shaky with anger. "It has to be here. It has to be!"

Fear and anger were bubbling throughout my body. I frantically ran over to the untouched desk, pulling out every drawer I could find and tossing them onto the floor. The drawers relinquished nothing except for useless papers and office supplies.

Gritting my teeth, I turned towards the top of the desk, hoping to see something that could help. There was nothing except dust and trinkets. I let out a scream of agony that echoed through the vacant halls of the building and swiped my hand across the desk, knocking every item onto the floor.

I felt completely defeated. The orphanage had been my only lead I had had on where Angel might be. Fate had robbed me of my only chance, my only hope of seeing my sister.

I stumbled backwards, leaning against the large window that looked out at the orphanages driveway. I wanted to cry, but no tears came. There was only an empty silence, the sound of utter defeat. I slumped down onto the floor, my eyes staring up at the blank ceiling.

"Poor thing," and old, soft voice cooed, much like a Grandma.

I immediately perked up, trying to see where that voice had come from.

"Yes, so quick to give up hope," another voice, one much more shrill and scratchy but still carrying the elderly woman tone, said.

I sat up slowly, scanning the dark office, searching for the source of the voices.

"Now child, sleep," another voice stated, this one much more sluggish but still elderly and woman-like.

I wanted to demand who was speaking to show themselves, but a sudden feeling of exhaustion crept along my body. The warm feeling engulfed my body, lulling me into a deep sleep. The strange voices now became distant as I closed my eyes.

* * *

><p>"Do not be so quick to give up hope, Estevan," the soft voice said.<p>

"Hang on to the hope you carry," the shrill voice advised.

"For doing so will yield you the results you wish," the sluggish voice added.

"Search far and wide for Angel," stated the soft voice.

"Begin small," the shrill voice instructed.

"And grow larger," said the sluggish voice.

"Until you reach the clouded city," the three voices said in unison. "It is there that you will find what you seek. It is there that your journey will begin."

**Here we are! Chapter 2. Lots of unanswered questions presented here. Where is Angel? What will Estevan do? Who are the three voices and what are they talking about? Well only I know! You'll have to keep reading to find out!**

**Sorry this took so long to put out. January had me working on my English term paper, which I have finally finished. I hope to have Chapter 3 out in a month or less!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**JacksonMW**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Gargoyles, for it belongs to**_ _**Disney**_._** I have been given permission by The Guy Who Likes To Write Stuff to use his characters.**_


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